The Garden of Darkness

“See that house off the road?” said Clare. “We could go there to get dry, get some rest.”


“We should just push through until we get to Master’s,” said Jem. “We can’t afford to stop for every little thing, Clare.”

“Everyone’s tired,” said Clare.

“I’m thinking of you.”

“We wouldn’t stay long.”

“Let’s do what Clare says,” said Ramah. “I don’t think we should arrive at Master’s looking too needy. It puts us at a disadvantage.”

Jem looked dubious.

“She’s right,” said Clare.

They made their way to the house. It had only one inhabitant, a man, dead, seated in a chair in the kitchen. Ramah dragged him out into the back garden, chair and all.

The real problem was where to sleep. It was easy enough to find a place for Sheba. They cleared out a potting shed, put a rope across the front where the door had been, blanketed Sheba and put her in. But when it came to the rest of them, things were more complicated. Clare, Jem, Sarai and Mirri were used to sleeping in the same room. Ramah was used to solitude. Bird Boy and Abel were going to share a room, but then, at the last minute, they all dragged mattresses into one bedroom. It seemed unlikely that there would be any Cured in such a rural area, but they felt safer together.

Before she went to bed, Clare gave Mirri and Sarai a kiss on the cheek. After a moment’s thought, she gave Ramah a kiss, too. Then she kissed Bird Boy and Abel. She was about to crawl into bed, but, as if in an afterthought, she went over and kissed Jem. He kissed her back.





CHAPTER THIRTY





THE SWAMP





THE WHOLE AREA was dotted with fields and farms made fertile by the ancient soil left by what was now a small non descript river. Jem found a pair of binoculars in the house and he spent part of the morning scanning the countryside.

“You should do something useful,” said Clare. “Feed Sheba. Help unload some of the supplies for breakfast or lunch or whatever meal it’s time for.”

“I’m thawing out my toes,” he said, and continued to scan. Then he suddenly stopped.

“Look at this,” he said. “Above the white house by the trees.” Clare took the binoculars and gasped.

“Those are sheep,” she said.

“And cows,” added Jem.

“And cows,” she said.

“You sound like Mirri. There’s got to be someone there caring for them, and a Cured couldn’t do it. A Cured might slaughter them, but I can’t picture one taking care of anything.”

At first, except for Ramah, the others didn’t believe Clare and Jem. Abel was sure that they were seeing white boulders. But he was silenced when he looked through the binoculars and actually saw the boulders moving.

“We should go over there now,” said Jem. “After all, it’s on our way. And there could well be other children.”

“Let’s stay there for a while,” said Mirri. “We can make friends with the children. And we can make friends with the sheep. Then we can herd the sheep to Master’s. It’ll be a gift, and—”

“You don’t understand,” said Jem. “We really don’t know how much time we have before Pest comes. We’re not staying anywhere.”

But, as it turned out, it was very hard to leave.

They repacked the supplies they had taken from the cart, hitched up Sheba and set off, the horse swishing her tail discontentedly. Clare and Bear walked in front with Jem, who was carrying his hammer.

“Is this going to be scary?” asked Mirri.

“No,” said Clare. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

It took them the better part of the morning to get there. The house was a large ramshackle farmhouse with a barn in the back; the pasturage was huge.

“There’s a lamb on that hill,” said Mirri. Any fears she might have had vanished.

Jem knocked at the front door.

Nobody answered. Jem opened the door, and the familiar smell of something or someone rotting curled around them.

They found the body in one of the downstairs bedrooms. It was that of a young man, eighteen or maybe nineteen years old. There was no question as to how he had died: his neck was black and bloated with Pest; his face was contorted, and its skin was mottled and marked with open sores. Someone had pulled the sheet up to his chin and tucked the ends of the comforter under the bed. Someone had cared for this boy. Clare thought of her dead father.

And she was fairly certain, despite the distorted face, who the boy was, and who had cared for him. She pulled the sheet down a little and looked at the clothes to make sure.

“It’s Rick,” she said.

“Oh no,” said Mirri. “Where’s Tilda?”

Clare explained to the others about the visit of Rick and Noah and Tilda.

“He knew he was pushing his time,” said Clare. “I don’t understand why he’s here.”

“He was stupid,” said Jem. “He should have pushed on to Master’s.”

“That’s harsh,” said Clare.